


Backrush

by DistortedDaytime



Series: Saferwaters [2]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Kink Discovery, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-11-21 15:56:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18144308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistortedDaytime/pseuds/DistortedDaytime
Summary: Unbidden, Mario thinks of what Paulo would look like with his ass spanked red, stripes of color lashed hot and undeniable, put there by Mario’s own hand. Paulo’s face, tear-streaked as he begs for more.For the first time since they got together, something like shame coils in his gut.





	1. In That Shoreless Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [Sea Changes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16580030/chapters/38853410) and will probably make more sense if you've read that one first. You don't have to, but :)
> 
> "Mišiću" means Little Mouse in Croatian.

Life, plans, and expectations rarely line up. Attraction to other men as well as women was never part of Mario’s plan, but he’s always been a pragmatist and there’s no point in harboring a grudge against things he can’t control. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It just  _ is. _

*

He wakes before Paulo, conditioned to get up and take the dog out, but Leni isn’t pawing at the door yet so Mario lays back and relaxes. They have nowhere to be today.

Paulo’s on his side, turned away with the covers pushed down around his waist, leaving his back exposed. Mario reaches out and runs the back of his hand down Paulo’s spine. He’s warm under the touch, stirring awake with a soft sigh.

“Mmm...Daddy?”

“Right here,  _ mišiću.” _

Paulo snuggles back against him. Mario kisses his hair and contemplates the feeling in his chest. It feels like love, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of, either.

*

Paulo stays with him all day and makes no move to go home that night. He’s easy to have around, energetic but not hyper, happy to make himself comfortable without supervision or awkwardness. 

Mario leaves him on the couch with Leni to go start dinner, calling over his shoulder,

“Am I cooking for one person or two?”

“Two,” Paulo answers.

Mario hums to himself as he puts some chicken on to broil and throws together a salad. He hears Paulo let the dog out and back in, then jingling tags and happy snorts as Leni comes to investigate the happenings in the kitchen. Paulo follows a moment later, grinning as he scoops Leni up.

“You’re not supposed to bother Daddy in the kitchen, you know that,” he chides, and gets a lick to the nose for his effort. “Hey! You’re still in trouble even if you give me kisses.”

Mario smiles, shaking his head. He reaches for Paulo but his phone rings in the other room.

“Grab that and bring it here?”

Paulo complies. Mario steals a kiss, then accepts the call, switching over to FaceTime.   
  
“Hey, Cap.”

“Not your captain anymore, since you just  _ had  _ to go and retire,” teases Luka. 

“Always my Captain,” answers Mario, because it’s true, and sure enough it makes Luka smile. 

“You’re coming for dinner Wednesday when you’re in town, right? And bringing your boyfriend? I want to meet La Joya.”

“Qué?”

Paulo perks up when he hears his nickname, staring at the phone but being good and staying a respectful distance away. Mario holds out a hand and pulls him into Luka’s view. 

“What do you say, Pau?” he asks in Spanish. “Want to meet a friend of mine when we go to Madrid?”

“Sure, Dad- shit, I mean…” Paulo turns red and tries to duck away, but Mario holds him close. 

“It’s okay,  _ mišiću.  _ Luka doesn’t judge.”

Sure enough Luka’s expression is as calm as ever; Paulo relaxes in Mario’s arms before pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth and moving to check on the food.

Luka watches him go, smiling a little. “Of course I don’t judge. Just think who used to be on my team.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“But I do want details,” Luka adds.

Mario snorts. “Of course you do.”

*

That night he’s ravenous, shoving Paulo onto all fours to prep him quickly and fuck into him without hesitation. If Paulo is suprised he doesn’t show it, he just reaches back to hold himself open, whimpering soft pleas in Spanish that turn to the wanton groans Mario likes best. 

Mario can’t stop touching Paulo, can’t stop his hands from clutching tighter than usual, indenting his love into Paulo’s skin with bruising fingertips and biting teeth. This boy...this boy is  _ his,  _ and everyone who sees him will know beyond a shadow of doubt he’s taken. He rears up to watch his cock disappear in the hot clutch of Paulo’s body, awed and amazed that he’s allowed to have this. 

Unbidden, he thinks of what Paulo would look like with his ass spanked red, stripes of color lashed hot and undeniable, put there by Mario’s own hand. Paulo’s face, tear-streaked as he begs for more. 

The thought is enough to push him to orgasm. Mario comes with a hoarse groan, head thrown back, hands digging tight into Paulo’s hips, shaking with the force of it same the images flash before his eyes.

*

Later, Mario stays awake after Paulo falls asleep. He...fucking hell, he got off hard on the thought of inflicting hurt on Paulo and making him cry.

For the first time since they got together, something like shame coils in his gut. 


	2. The Salt And Swell

The thoughts don’t stop.

Mario uses whatever plausible excuses he can find to keep Paulo out of his bed. They still spend time together, but the look in Paulo's eyes gets more and more resigned every time Mario sends him home. He’s fucking this up, he knows he is, but it has to do for right now until the season is over. There are games to be won in Italy, statements to make in Europe, and the team needs all of them focused and at their best if they want to keep the Champion’s League dream alive.

He tasted that glory once, years ago. He wants it again.

They lose, poorly, in Madrid, at the Metropolitano he called home for a season. Luka, bless him, doesn’t drag Mario and Paulo out for dinner; instead they sit around the Modrić family table and chat about everything but football. To Mario’s complete lack of surprise Luka’s children love Paulo; Ema and Ivano drag him off to their playroom, leaving Mario, Luka, and Vanja alone with cherry strudels and half a bottle of wine.

Communicating in a second language is easy at this point, but there’s nothing like the ease of Mario’s mother tongue and being surrounded by its cadance. It’s easy to sink low in his seat and let Luka refill his glass.

“You know, I hate to say it, but retirement looks good on you.”

Mario snorts. “Thank you.”

“He means you look happy,” says Vanja, nudging Mario’s foot.

“I am happy,” he says softly.

Luka looks far too perceptive for Mario’s comfort. They’ve been friends long enough that lying is pointless, but fortunately Luka doesn’t push. He takes Vanja’s hand and they sit in the quiet kitchen surrounded by cool night air. Mario envies their comfort with each other, the ease born of intimacy and trust.

He runs a hand through his hair. Something has to give.

“How...how do you draw the line between keeping someone close and keeping them safe?”

Vanja gives him a long look. “You start by talking to them, but you know that already,” she says, and Luka nods his agreement.

“Be open and be honest about everything so there’s less chance for misunderstandings,” he adds. “Communicate, and power through when things get hard and uncomfortable.”

Mario doesn't get a chance to answer before Paulo comes back into the kitchen with a sleeping Ema in his arms.

“Suba told me to make sure you’re not overthinking this,” Luka finishes, taking Ema from Paulo. “He’s right. Give yourself a break and talk to your boy about whatever's on your mind, hey?”

Mario rolls his eyes. Do all the Vatreni know? “Suba didn't say any of that.”

Luka brushes the blonde hair back from his daughter’s face. “I’d call him so he could tell you himself, but right now I have a little one to put to bed and another who needs to go brush his teeth,” he says, jerking his head over to where Ivano’s trying to sneak unnoticed up the stairs.

Smiling, Mario drops a kiss on Ema’s forehead before hugging Vanja and Luka goodbye. “Thanks for dinner. It was good to sit and just be, without any bullshit.”

“Any time, you know that. And your mouse is welcome too,” Luka adds in Spanish.

Paulo looks down and grins, clearly pleased. It’s all Mario can do not to kiss him right there.

*

It’s an easy drive back to Juve’s hotel in Mario’s rented car. The Madrid streets never got the chance to feel familiar like Torino does; he has to focus on the GPS and not losing track as it tests his rusty Spanish. He swears at a particularly garbled bit of instruction and ignores the snort from the passenger seat.

“Make a left here, Daddy,” says Paulo, just a little cheeky.

“Brat,” Mario mutters, and takes the left turn.

He parks in the underground garage. Mario barely gets the keys out of the ignition before Paulo scrambles over the console and wedges himself into his lap. It’s second nature at this point for Mario’s hands to go right to Paulo’s ass and pull him closer. They can’t stay here long, they certainly can’t fuck here, but Mario’s addicted to the desperate edge in Paulo’s kisses. Fuck, he's missed this after weeks of not letting his boy get too near, quietly aching for the closeness he's grown to treasure so much.

He catches Paulo’s bottom lip between his teeth and bites down, hard. Paulo yelps, moaning as Mario soothes the sting with his tongue only to bite him again, draw out the little pained sounds that go right to Mario’s groin. He draws his hand back and delivers a sharp slap to Paulo’s ass, just a burst of pain and only a shadow of what he wants to do, nothing to turn his skin red and burning-hot.

Paulo jerks back and stares at him.

“You- you hit me.”

Shit. Oh, shit. The shame burns through Mario like acid and his stomach drops. Fuck, he should have been more careful. He can't slip up like this again.

“I’m so sorry. I won't do it again,” he murmurs, disgusted with himself and his lack of self-control.

Paulo’s still staring at him with those wide, wide eyes. “Oh. But- why not?”

“Because I hurt you,” says Mario.

He tries to nudge Paulo off of him. They've been out here too long as it is. “We need to get upstairs before curfew,” he says, but Paulo won’t move. “Paulo. Come on.”

“Does this have anything to do with why you’ve been pretending like you're not avoiding me?”

Fuck. He noticed, of course he noticed. Mario doesn't know what to say, and Paulo’s face drops.

“Daddy, no, talk to me, please? Whatever's wrong, we’ll fix it together.”

“You can’t fix...it's not right to want to hurt people. Especially not people you love.”

“Hurt how? Because I know you’ll never hurt me on purpose,” says Paulo, and Mario shakes his head, because yes, that's exactly what he wants to do, there has to be some way to make him understand-  
  
He opens his mouth, but Paulo claps a hand over it. “No, listen. I know you’ll never hurt me in any way I don't want.”

Mario’s throat goes tight. “Paulo...how can you be so sure?”

“Because.” Paulo wraps his arms around Mario’s neck. “You're my _Daddy_. I love you, and I trust you to stop if I say stop.”

Wet lips find the side of Mario's neck. Paulo's shaking a little, he realizes, and rubs his back for reassurance.

“But you have to trust me too,” Paulo mumbles, “trust that I know what I want and actually talk to me about it.”

He looks up, blue eyes glassy. “I miss you, Daddy. I don't like it when things are weird and I don't know how to fix them,” he says, and Mario's heart breaks.

“I’m so sorry. There's nothing for you to fix, it's me. Starting now, I talk to you so this doesn't happen again.”

He seizes Paulo's face in his hands and kisses him slow and thorough, claiming his mouth like he hasn't done in far too long. Paulo still opens for him so beautifully, sweet and pliant, taking everything Mario gives him.

“Daddy, please...I want it.”

“What, Little Mouse?”

“I want you to hurt me.”

Mario groans. Christ, he’s not going to last five minutes if Paulo starts begging, and they need to get out of here before he does something incredibly stupid.

“When we get home. Soon.”

Paulo bites his lip and wiggles his ass just enough to be a tease. “You promise?”

“I promise. Now hurry up and get upstairs so no one catches you sneaking into my room. I want you with me tonight.”

Paulo beams. “Yes, Daddy.”

*

Paulo curls in tight against Mario's chest once they get upstairs and under the hotel covers. His smaller body fits into Mario's contours like a puzzle piece, and his breathing is soft and even in his sleep.

Mario watches him, and allows himself to hope.


End file.
